Charming Beauty Bits and Pieces
by evilgiraffe82
Summary: Outtakes and companion pieces to Charming Beauty Bright. These will work best if you've already read CBB, or at least read the corresponding chapter on there first. A gentle story of love, and loss, and life. AH, slash.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**

**Apologies for this being later than I promised - I tried to upload it on Friday, but FFn was having major issues for the whole world, it seems.  
**

**This story is going to hold a few outtakes/companion pieces to Charming Beauty Bright. I think they'll probably work best if you read them after their corresponding chapters in CBB, but obviously it's up to you! I'm going to try to put one up every day, and there should be one for each chapter. I've got seven written already, so I'm good to go for the next week, anyway. Some of them are Jasper POV, as per CBB, but some of them are from the points of view of various other characters. All of them are rather short, and have not been looked at by my beta team, so I apologise for any mistakes or inconsistencies! I hope you like them - let me know what you think?**

**Disclaimer: They're not mine, right? Their misery is, though.  
**

**This first little bit is from Jasper's point of view, and time-wise it falls a month or two before CBB starts.**

* * *

I can't sleep. The bed is so cold, so big, and I'm so alone. I want to sleep, want to forget, but every time I close my eyes the pain is there, and I can't escape. So I lie here, curled up small, with my eyes wide open. I face the wall, my back to the middle of the bed. If I don't look, it might not be real. He might be here, I might be dreaming. I lie very still, listening, and I can't quite tell, either way. Tension builds and builds, and hope builds along with it. Maybe this is a dream. Maybe if I turn over, I'll wake up, and he'll be there, sleeping soundly. He'll laugh at me for being so afraid.

I'm frozen solid, muscles aching, trying to get enough courage to turn over. Hope slowly rises, and I convince myself that he'll be there. I can almost hear him breathing. I can almost feel the heat rolling from his warm body, making our bed cosy, the big bed that's just the right size for two. I cautiously stretch one foot back, and I only find cold sheets. Maybe he's a bit further over, lying at his customary peculiar angle, just out of my reach. I should look.

I stretch out straight, releasing my limbs from the foetal position I've held for too long. The relief that he's there, that he's alright, starts to flood through me as I roll over fast, ready to throw my arms around him.

When he's not there, it's confusing at first, and then devastating.

He really isn't here. He isn't coming back. It's real.

My hands clutch at the sheets, claws grabbing, spasms running through them as my whole body seizes and shudders. It feels like a clamp, a vice is around my chest, squeezing my ribs and relentlessly crushing inwards. I can't take this sort of pressure, and I dimly realise I'm thrashing, arms flailing and head lashing from side to side as my jaws ache from silently screaming, mouth wide open.

Suddenly the pressure releases, and I draw in a deep breath, drawing air down until I'm almost bursting, and then it rushes out once more, ripping a howl with it. My arms are clutched round my knees, the foetal position resumed, and I wail in an anguished, high-pitched keening, without words.

I can't see, and I can't hear, and the gentle touch of a hand on my shoulder is barely registered as I rock, oblivious, trapped in my small circle of pain. Slowly, oh so slowly, the soft sound of my name being repeated permeates my consciousness. The hand migrates from my shoulder and strokes my back. The gentle, soothing feeling brings me back to the surface, until I realise Alice is there with me, and it's her rescuing me, again. With the increased awareness comes the knowledge of the quiet, and the only sound is the rushing of blood in my ears and the subsiding sobs. Finally, I can speak, though my voice is rough and halting, and my throat hurts.

"Thank you."

She squeezes my hand, then tugs at it, pulling me into a sitting position so she can hug me. She's too small in my arms, but she holds on tight, and there is a measure of comfort in her embrace, inadequate though it is.

I get out of bed, and she pulls the covers back into place after me. We drink tea, and listen to the strange quiet of of extreme early morning. Alice doesn't talk, just shares my anguish, and her companionship stops me from going mad. The mugs cool, I tidy them away and head for the stairs again. The bed daunts me, issues a challenge I know I can't rise to. I slide under the covers, the sheets flat and chill once more. I lie in the darkness, staring at the wall, the weight in my chest pinning me down, holding me motionless.

And I still can't sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**

**This one is from Jake's point of view, and falls within chapter two. Can you tell I love rugby?**

* * *

"Crouch, touch, pause."

Concentration and intimidation as our side faces theirs.

"Engage!"

They slam together and I watch our scrum-half as he puts the ball in. Our boys are doing well, pushing them back little by little into their own territory. My eyes are fixed on them as I pace up the field, the line of my team-mates keeping me connected to the scrum.

"Go, go, go!"

The ball is out! All our preparation will be put to the test now. The ball is flying towards me, scorching from hand to hand between players, but they and I know it's coming to me. Closer, closer, closer, and it's cradled against my side as I shoot forward, turning on all the speed I can.

"Run, Jake! Go! Faster!" I can hear my sister in the crowd, and as always I do as she tells me.

I see someone heading my way, clearly planning to take me down. I feint left and sidestep to the right, just wrong-footing him enough; I feel his fingertips brushing like feathers against my ankles as he dives a fraction too late. I force more speed from my legs as I head for the try line. Fifteen feet, twelve, ten, eight.

"Shit!" I curse as someone slams into my legs and I fall in slow motion. I stretch my arm out, desperate to get the ball over the line. The team will never let me forget it if I don't get this, I should have kept a lookout for tacklers. Thank fuck I'm tall; I smash into the ground with the ball in my hand a bare inch beyond the paint.

Sound floods my ears, the victorious whistle and the cheers of my team-mates. My legs are released amid a torrent of unfocussed abuse. I rise up, throwing my head back as I clench my fists and feel the relief and the triumph fill me as hands beat my shoulders. I search the crowd for Bella. She's waving wildly, gloved hands a blur as she leaps up and down. She has friends with her; the ever-faithful Alice who mirrors my sister's excitement, their arms linked together. I do not recognise the slender man who stands with them. He stares at me, face draining of what little colour there was, before quickly looking away, seemingly preferring to applaud the girls' enthusiasm rather than our triumph. He is clapping slowly in the polite manner of someone who is doing what he knows to be correct rather than because he feels any kinship to the achievement he has witnessed. I wonder idly what he's doing here, he looks out of place; too delicate and too reserved, especially to stand with my little sister as she carries on cheering and bouncing like she doesn't give a shit who's watching.

No matter. I give a thumbs-up to Bella and head back for the restart.

**:::::**

"Yeah!"

The final whistle blows and my team-mates cheer. We've won the match by a healthy margin, and have had one of the best games that I can remember. As we all jog slowly back to the pavilion I look back to Bella and wave until she looks at me. I tip my hand in front of my mouth, as if I'm drinking an imaginary pint, and she rewards me with a thumbs-up. I grin back at her, and head indoors.

The changing room is thick with steam and the babble of voices. I strip off and join the others in the shower, elbowing my way past people so I don't have to use the end one and stand in the draught. Sometimes being the biggest guy on the team can have its advantages.

"About time, Black, thought you were gonna stand out there flirting with that bird all night."

"Shut the fuck up, Riley, that's my sister." I don't bother looking at him. Every time she comes to watch a match he makes the same crappy joke. Fucker thinks he's funny.

"Oh, right, right. Well, if it's not her, it must be that guy with her, then."

"Nah, he's not my type. I prefer blonds, with a bit more muscle," I say, looking Riley up and down before meeting his eye and winking at him.

Distraction techniques work; the boys start making gay jokes at Riley's expense and the conversation is safely away from both my sister and her friends.

We're all pretty much dressed when our team captain, Sam, comes in with a stereo and a massive grin on his face. He plugs it in and we're almost deafened by our traditional victory song. We sing along all the way through and are still repeating the chorus as we pile down the road.

I've barely set foot into the pub when Bella launches herself at me and drags me over to Alice and her friend. I hug Alice and turn to the unknown man, holding out my hand.

"Hiya, I'm Jake, long-suffering brother to Bella, here."

He flashes me a quick, tight smile and speaks softly. I can hardly hear him over the noise.

"Jasper."

Why do I recognise that name? I open my mouth to ask, but Alice's warning look stops me. I stare at her as she leads him over to a quiet table. My brain is in overdrive trying to figure it out.

Bella puts me out of my misery.

"You know who he is: the one whose boyfriend drowned. Alice has been trying to get him to do something normal for weeks, so be nice to him. She was shocked he agreed to come out at all."

It all clicks into place as I remember the reports on the local news, in the paper, and the crowds of police down on the beach. I remember how my heart had gone out to this man, Jasper, before I'd even found out that he and the dead man were friends of Bella and Alice's. I can't think of what to say.

"Oh right. The poor guy."

I look over to him and wonder how I didn't see it before. He looks so vulnerable, and I can't help but feel protective as well as pitying. Bella looks up and smiles at me as we walk over. If I can help him, I will.

* * *

**A/N In case you're interested, the victory song is, of course, Queen's _We Are The Champions_ :o)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N So, in chapter three Jasper was asked for three reasons to love Edward, and we saw one. These make up the set. Jasper POV again.**

* * *

Edward loved being silly, always running around in public places and telling childish jokes at the top of his voice. He especially delighted in dragging me into his daft escapades, and if I was unaware until it was too late, so much the better.

We had been on the beach, fooling around with a frisbee when Edward decided he wanted to build a giant sandcastle. I made a couple of castles, but he complained that they were in the wrong place, and I was making the little town unrealistic. I didn't really see what the issue was; for crying out loud, it was just a sandcastle. He was always a bit too much of a stickler for accuracy. I'd given in and left him to it, just settled myself down on the sand and watched him as he dug and placed and patted. He was silhouetted against the sun; a perfect outline wandering back and forth.

I had fallen asleep.

Edward had taken advantage, and built me into the sandcastle. When I woke up only my head was still uncovered, and Edward's face was mere inches from my own.

"What have you done to me?" I tried to get up, but he wouldn't let me. He made me stay perfectly still and then showed me a photo on his phone. I looked at it and realised he'd not been making a sandcastle at all.

He'd sculpted me. At least, he'd sculpted over me, a layer of sand covering my skin. He hadn't been entirely faithful, though – both the sculpture and I may have been lying on my back with crossed ankles, but the sculpture also had the most enormous erection I have ever seen. No Michelangelo's David, this; this was more in the territory of the Rude Man.

I struggled to find my voice.

"What the fuck?"

He'd smiled broadly. "What?" He looked as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, .

"You're going to get us arrested. This is practically indecent exposure. And it's not like a cold shower will take care of that, either," I said, glancing down before looking up at him and raising an eyebrow.

He'd laughed, and I'd laughed, and he'd told me of the scandalised looks he'd got from passers-by.

"Well, what do you expect. You must have looked like you were molesting a poor innocent," I said.

We'd giggled like schoolboys until I couldn't keep still enough, and the sand covering me fell away. He'd told me off for ruining his masterpiece, and chased me down the beach, neither of us caring what anyone else thought as I ran, screaming, until he threw his arms round my waist and pulled me over. Soft sand had flown everywhere as we struggled and wrestled with each other until finally we'd collapsed, still laughing.

**:::::**

Thinking of a third reason to love Edward was easy. I loved his kindness, his thoughtfulness, and the way he would shut off his silly side if someone needed him.

On one particular occasion I'd been travelling on my own for pretty much a whole day, and had been awake for over twenty-four hours, fighting with cancelled flights and delayed trains. I'd finally staggered through our front door at three in the morning, cold, tired, and irritable to find Edward waiting for me with hot water ready in the bath. It was all I could do to wrap an arm around him and let him guide my feet up the stairs.

I'd stopped outside the bathroom door, capable only of standing there as Edward slowly stripped my sweat-stained travelling clothes from me. He'd helped me into the bath, and slowly poured water over my skin as I sat, passive. The water had washed over my shoulders over and over again, warming me up and soothing my mind. His soapy hands had smoothed over me, sliding down my arms and around each finger, sweeping over my legs and across my chest. He had pressed his fingers into my back, kneading until the tension was gone. He'd cradled my head as he washed my hair and rinsed the bubbles away before placing a gentle kiss on my forehead.

I had been almost asleep when he had got me out of the bath and wrapped me in a big, clean towel. He'd rubbed and patted the towel over me until I was dry, then peeled back the bedcovers and settled me down amongst the sheets, the clean, fresh smell enveloping me.

My last memory before sleep had overtaken me had been of Edward climbing into bed, his body curling behind me and one arm falling over my ribs and holding me close. He had pressed his lips to the back of my neck, and I had drifted into sleep, feeling beloved.

* * *

**A/N Try googling for the Cerne Abbas Giant, aka the Rude Man. He's not one of the oldest chalk figures in England, at only 400 (ish) years old, but he does have other features that make up for it ;o)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N So this one falls a long way before CBB starts, and is seen through Jake's eyes. I hope it gives you a bit of insight into his relationship with Angela, and what he's like as a person. Also, "pinny" is a British slang term for "apron".**

* * *

"Mummy, can I do the eggs?" I stretch up on tiptoes, peering over the edge of the table.

"Of course you can, sweetheart," she says, picking me up and standing me on a chair where I can reach the eggs and the bowl. "Put your pinny on first though."

"Aww, I don't want the pinny," I grumble. It's the only apron Angie has that's small enough for me, and it's all pink and frilly. "It's a _girl's_ pinny."

"If you wear it you can help, but if you don't wear it, you won't be able to help, because you might end up all messy." Mummy sounds stern, and I know that she means what she says. I don't want to wear it though, and I'm caught, trying to decide.

"How about if you wear the big pinny, Jacob?" Auntie Angie is holding up a proper apron like the butcher wears, with blue and white stripes on it. I nod enthusiastically, and she wraps it round me, tying a knot in the neck to keep it high enough. The strings wrap all the way around me twice before Angie ties them in a bow. It's much too big, but I feel like a proper grown-up getting to wear this one.

"Do you remember how to do the eggs?" Mummy shows me how to tap the eggs against the side of the bowl to crack them, then pushes her fingers into the cracks and pulls the shell apart. I watch carefully, then try to copy her. I tap the egg, and shove my fingers into the shell too hard, too fast, and egg splatters all over the kitchen and my face.

The sound of my mother's laughter rings out in the small kitchen, making us all join in. Even my baby sister is giggling from where she sits on the other side of the kitchen. Mummy fetches a clean dishcloth and wipes my face and hands, the fabric rough on my skin.

"Be more gentle this time," she says, and passes me another egg. I tap it slowly, carefully, and eventually the shell splits enough that I can push my fingers inside and break it open.

"Well done, Jakey," Mummy says, and I grin up at her. Playing with eggs is fun.

"Is it time to do the mixing yet?" I love playing with the big mixer, watching it stir the mixture round and round.

"I think so, but it's auntie Angie's recipe, so we should ask her if there's anything else we need to get ready first."

I turn and Angie winks at me as she sets up the mixer. We add all the ingredients to the bowl, and I'm allowed to press the button to set it going. I peer into the bowl as it slowly turns the pile of flour, sugar, and egg into cake mixture.

"Can I lick the bowl?" I say, hopefully.

Mummy and Angie laugh again. "Not until we've put the cake in the oven – otherwise you'll be eating all the mixture and we won't have any cake!"

I wouldn't mind eating all the cake mixture. Cake mixture is yummy. I have to wait, though, as they pour it into tins. I try to sneak my fingers into the tin to get a bit of mixture, but Angie is too quick, and she raps my knuckles with the wooden spoon. The spoon is covered in mixture, though, so I lick it off my hand while the tins go into the oven.

My hand is completely clean, and it seems a very long time later when I'm passed the bowl.

"Angie, you've scraped it too well," I grumble. "There's hardly any mixture left."

"Well, when it's your kitchen and your cake, you can do what you like with the mixture, my boy," she replies.

"I will, Angie." I'm dead serious, but Mummy and Angie are laughing anyway. One day I will make my own cake myself, and I will save lots of mixture to scrape from the bowl.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N This is Jake's POV, and falls shortly before the start of chapter five of CBB. Rugby terms explained at the end if you need them! If anyone can spot my nod to MizzHyde's story _Since_ in this snippet, you can have a gold star.**

* * *

"What the fuck?"

I keep running and watch helplessly as Riley gets spear tackled. He's lifted by the hips and thrown into the floor, and will be bloody lucky if his neck doesn't break. I see red, and accelerate towards the stupid fucking idiot who's trying to kill my friend.

"Fucking wanker!" I haven't even slowed down, but lead with my fists, slamming into his ribs as hard as I can and he topples like a tree. I follow him down and keep hitting him. "Stupid fucking dickhead!"

He hits me back, but I barely feel it, don't feel anything other than the satisfying thudding of my fists in his flesh. I've not managed to give him more than a few bruises when my teammates pull me off him. His own are not yet close enough to do the same to him, though, and so he, predictably, scrambles to his feet and starts yelling obscenities while I struggle, trying to get free from whoever it is holding me back.

"Jake, stop." It's Sam. Of course. "I mean it, Jake, stop, now, or I'll substitute you out of the game."

"Did you see what he did?" I can't let it go.

"Yeah, I did. Everyone did." His voice is tight with barely-concealed anger. "But that's not for you to deal with. I'm going to let you go now, and you're going to walk away. Got it?"

"Yes, fine." As soon as he loosens his grip I wrench myself away, glaring at everyone in the immediate vicinity before stalking away to the rest of the team. They welcome me with slaps on the back and muttered congratulations, softly spoken so Sam doesn't hear. Riley is back on his feet, thankfully unhurt, and grips my hand as he thanks me under his breath, his eyes flashing with rage.

I pace in circles as the referee talks to both captains, Sam clearly furious but controlling himself. He looks round at me and waves me over.

"Cool it, Jake," he warns.

It doesn't help, I see the yellow card being pulled on me and lose it again. I barely recognise my own voice, yelling at the ref. I catch a glimpse of the opposing team laughing at me and lunge forward, ready to take them all on.

"Don't you dare." Sam is suddenly in front of me, one hand on my chest and his voice cold with fury. "You'll get red-carded in a second, now shut the _fuck_ up and go and sit down."

It's like a slap in the face, but something about the look in his eyes makes me back down, back off, and head for the bench for my ten-minute sin bin. I don't sit down, I'm too keyed up to relax, and in any case I need to keep myself warm. Pacing up and down the sideline, trying not to watch the game in an attempt to calm down, Coach falls into step alongside me.

"You ok now? Going to keep your head if I send you back out there?"

"Yeah, Em, I'm fine." He looks sceptical. "Really. I won't pick a fight with that dickhead again. Unless he tries to kill any more of our boys."

"Not even then. Be the bigger man, Jake."

I snort, laughing. "I _am_ the bigger man. Bigger than you, shorty." Ever since I first met Emmett it's been a running joke. He's about half an inch shorter than me, and it rankles with him, given that at well over six feet tall he's used to being taller than everyone he knows. He smiles though, clearly pleased I've relaxed enough to joke.

"Yeah, well. Just stay in control, please." He gives me a slap on the shoulder and walks away.

I wait out my time, and rejoin the match, aware that the eyes of all the officials as well as all the players on both sides are going to be trained on me.

I manage to keep my cool for another fifteen minutes, until poor play brings up the adrenaline again, but at least this time it's about the game, not about the players.

"Shit!"

We're in danger of losing the ball, and I bind on tight, determined to keep this ruck going. We're gathering momentum and the desperation is ebbing when the someone slams into the ruck and several of us go down. It turns into something of a mêlée, and I'm trying to get back on my feet when there's a loud cracking sound and everyone stops moving.

"Jake? Jake, man, talk to me."

"Sam?" I can hear his voice, but I can't see him.

"You're ok, Jake, you're ok, just keep still. We're waiting for an ambulance."

* * *

**A/N A spear tackle is one where a player is picked up by the legs and thrown head-first into the ground, as if the man doing the throwing is using him as a spear. It is an incredibly dangerous thing to do, and can easily result in serious injury. Needless to say, it's an illegal move! In rugby, if you get a yellow card, you are sent off the field for ten minutes, known as being in the Sin Bin. A second yellow card is identical in meaning as in football (soccer), and results in a red card and being sent off. Jake gets a yellow card for fighting, but he's quite lucky not to get another one for shouting at the referee - rugby is generally very respectful (or at least obedient) to the match officials.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N I'm so sorry I didn't post this up last night! I completely forgot about it :o( I'll try to remember to put up the next one this evening though! This is Jasper's POV, and falls somewhere in the middle of chapter six of CBB. I like Angela.**

* * *

There must be something about Angela and hinges. Her house is so close, but the decrepit-looking garden gate thwarts me. With my hands full of shopping bags, I wrestle with the catch, swearing under my breath and trying not to break the eggs. When it begrudgingly gives way at last, I almost fall over, staggering forward with my bags swinging and hitting me in the knees so I have to clutch at the gate to stay upright. I glance around, grateful that there are no nosy neighbours to witness my embarrassment, and brush the flakes of rust from my hands.

When I get to the door, Angela opens it before I can knock, and raises an eyebrow at me. She tells me that I'm here to bake a present for Jake in the hospital, not to try and create a reason to be in the hospital myself. I blush, stammer, and follow her into the house.

The kitchen reminds me of her office, with several shelves groaning under the weight of cookery books and photographs. There's a small table in the corner, and I gratefully drop my bags on the worn surface and wait for instructions. Angela asks me what sort of thing I'd like to make.

"I'm not sure, really. Just something that he'll like. I don't know what he'd like."

She taps her fingers together and purses her lips, thinking. Finally she stills, and smiles at me. "I told you to get chocolate, didn't I?"

I nod, and she whirls into action, handing me an apron and telling me to wash my hands. For the next twenty minutes I chop chocolate, break eggs, and generally do as I'm told. The cake mixture looks rich, dark, and delicious as we pour it into the tin and put it in the oven. Angela makes me wash up while it bakes, and at least I can do this without direction. She does the drying, and still keeps talking.

"So, how do you know my Jacob, then? I can't remember if I asked you before."

I pause, my hands still in the hot water as I think. "I was... I mean, he saw that I..." I shake my head, and decide to go back to the start, resuming my washing.

"Alice and Bella took me out to watch a match, and I met Jake in the pub afterwards. He drove us all home, and came in with me when he dropped me off at my house. I was... not in the most stable frame of mind, and he helped me calm down."

Her voice is quiet. "What was wrong?"

I hesitate before answering, then think that she must have heard about Edward on the local news anyway. "Do you remember the story on the news, in the paper, about the man who drowned?" I don't look round, but keep talking. "He was my boyfriend."

There's a heartbeat of stillness before she responds. "I remember, and I'm sorry. Jacob is very good at making people feel better. I'm pleased for you that you met him – he has a very big heart, always trying to help everyone. He was always a kind-hearted soul, but it would have been easy for him to have gone the other way after his mother died. Thankfully his own grief made him recognise sadness in others, and it made him more caring, not bitter. He was a rock for Isabella and Billy. He still is, I think. His mother was like that, always mothering everything, always looking after people. I miss her."

A small smile creeps across my face. "I miss Edward."

"Of course you do. But you'll learn how to deal with it, in time."

The harsh ringing of the timer on the oven startles us both. Angela declares the cake ready, and keeps us both busy while it cools. She slides it into a tin, and gives me a knife to cut it with.

"Jacob can give it back to me when it's all eaten. Tell him from me I hope he likes it – I think he will." She stands back for a moment, looking thoughtful, then gathers me into a hug. She's all soft curves and comforting warmth, and I hold her carefully, gratefully.

"Look after yourself, Jasper. Come and bake with me again if you like."

She walks with me out of the house and down the path, and pulls the gate open wide, holding it clear of me, obviously remembering my earlier mishap. She closes it behind me, and winks.

* * *

**A/N Can anyone smell cake baking?**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N So, this one falls just before Jasper's birthday party, and is from Alice's POV. I wondered what everyone else would be thinking about Jasper's more cheery demeanour.**

**Also, I'll do my best to have the eighth outtake ready for tomorrow night, but I've struggled for time this week, and it's not quite all there yet. I'll do my best!  
**

* * *

"Thanks for coming out, guys. I know it's short notice, but I can't remember the last time Jasper suggested going out without someone else suggesting it first."

"Don't be stupid, Al," Bella reprimands. "It's hardly a big problem – you know damn well we were all going to be out together tonight anyway."

"True. I just thought it would have been at my house rather than out. Dammit, if he'd only said earlier I wouldn't have needed to spend all that time tidying."

"Oh yes. I'd forgotten what a pig sty you live in," Jake teases. I glare at him, he winks at me, and I can't help but grin in return.

I've known Jake for years, ever since I first met Bella, and he's always had this easygoing charm, an ability to make anyone relax, and be his friend.

"We'll, I'm pleased we're out," says Peter. "Jasper's been too withdrawn for too long – really not himself. I can't even imagine how hard it must have been to cope with his bereavement, but it's good that he's learning to cope."

"What happened, anyway?" Matt Riley, Jake's friend and Bella's current crush, asks. "I figured someone close to him had died, but not who."

"Not just 'died'," Bella replies. "Edward was a friend of mine and Alice's too, and Jasper's boyfriend. They'd been together forever. Anyway, Edward was always quite sensitive, quite delicate."

"And gorgeous," I interrupt.

"Oh yes, gorgeous. Such a shame he was gay, really, what a waste of those genes." She shakes her head, clearly trying to get a mental picture of Edward out of her head. "Still, he was the artistic type, you know? I don't know why, but he started to get depressed, and he couldn't seem to recover. We tried everything, and Jasper drove himself crazy trying to help him. Nothing made any difference though, and in the end Edward committed suicide."

"Shit."

The response from Matt brings a grim nod from Bella. "You remember the guy who drowned, down at the beach? That was Edward."

Everyone sits in silence for a while, lost in thought.

Peter clears his throat. "It's no wonder Jasper took his death so badly, considering. He's been better recently though, I thought?" He glances at Charlotte, looking for affirmation. "Like he's getting over it."

"You can't get over it," Bella snaps. "Edward left him in the worst possible way, and is never coming back. There is no getting over it."

I try to calm her down. "Chill, Bells. Peter meant 'moving on' not 'getting over it'. You can't maintain that level of grief forever. You just can't. Jasper's been grieving too hard for too long in any case – I've wondered if he was starting to get clinically depressed himself. Peter's right, though – he's definitely happier recently."

Bella huffs. "You can be miserable for a hell of a long time when someone close to you dies."

Jake reaches out across the table and takes her hand in his, squeezing gently and smiling gently when she looks at him. As she settles, I remember their bereavement, and I could kick myself for pretending to know more about grief than she does.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I didn't mean..."

"It's fine." She cuts me off, then takes a deep breath. "If Jasper's feeling better, that's fantastic. When's he getting here anyway?"

I look at my watch. "About ten minutes, I think. Jake, have you got the cake sorted?"

"Yep, it's all good to go. They've taken it into the kitchen for us, and will bring it out instead of making us choose dessert." He laughs. "He better share it, if I'm not allowed pudding."

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**A/N Hands up if you'd share cake with Jake...**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N This one sits just after chapter eight of CBB. This is Jake's reaction after Jasper's revelation. Let me know what you think?**

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I still can't get my head round it. I am by turns fascinated, repulsed, guilty, and proud. And then I go through all those emotions again as a reaction to them. I feel repulsed because I can't help feeling proud of my body, of myself, that I can make some guy like it, like me – without even doing anything. I feel fascinated because no guy has ever told me he feels that way towards me. Hell, I don't even know any gay guys aside from Jasper and Em – and Em is just like me. I feel repulsed, and I can't quite work out exactly why. I feel guilty, because I'm too much of a coward to make a decision. I should either cut Jasper out of my life, or I should be his friend like before. I don't know which I want to choose, and I don't know how to do either one.

I can't stand being idle, and when I'm left without anything to do I leave the house, and hope physical exertion will keep my brain busy. I wander aimlessly until my hands are burning from supporting my weight on the crutches. My mind still spinning, I head for a nearby bus stop, and sit down, gratefully loosening my grip and flexing my fingers. I wince slightly as the feeling returns to my hands, and sigh. When the bus arrives, I look at the destination and take it as an omen – it's heading towards Sam's house.

I know I can't keep pretending nothing's happened, I know I need to clear the air with Jasper. But I'm too chickenshit to talk to him, so I look for someone else instead. Of all the people I could talk to, Sam is probably the best choice. He's always level-headed, always fair, and he knows Jasper well enough to be helpful. I climb aboard the bus, buy my ticket, and settle into a seat, gazing out of the window as we trundle down the road, slowly getting closer and closer to Sam's.

I get off the bus slowly, grateful when the driver lowers the front suspension for me, as if I'm more incapable than I am. It's not much of a walk to Sam's, but I slow down as I approach, still unsure whether or not I really want to talk. The decision is taken out of my hands, however, as Sam is in the front garden, wrestling a sapling into the ground. As I hesitate, he looks up and sees me, and my fate is decided. He waves, and calls me over.

"Good to see you, man. What're you doing round here?" He's pressing soil round the base of the new tree, and only glances up at me briefly.

"Just passing by, you know." I sound like a liar.

He gives me a long, slow look, then nods. "Ok. You want to come in?"

I follow him indoors wordlessly, and he gets us both a drink. He's the sort of man who doesn't talk just for the sake of talking, and the silence stretches out between us. He won't push me, won't demand a reason for my unusual behaviour. He'll just wait, sure in the knowledge that I'll crack eventually.

I know I'll crack too, so I choose to talk instead. I ramble on about everything and anything, meaningless, pointless nonsense, that Sam barely responds to. When I run out of things to say, the silence seems deeper, longer, more pregnant with things unsaid. I fidget, Sam raises an eyebrow, and I crack.

"Sam... what would you do, if a guy told you he liked you?" I keep my eyes down, so I can't see his reaction. I only look up, shocked, when the answering voice is not Sam's.

"In what context?" Sam's wife, Emily, walks into the room and fixes me with a look not dissimilar to her husband's.

"In the context of him being gay, and me not being gay."

She shakes her head, annoyed. "No, I mean, who is this guy? If he's just some guy in a bar, then take it as a compliment and forget about it."

"He's someone I know. A friend."

Sam is startled. "I didn't think you'd be Em's type."

I glance at him, then shake my head. "It's not Emmett."

He frowns. "Who, then?"

"Jasper."

"Ah. Well. What are you going to do about it?"

I shrug, and Emily glares at me. "Is this the guy who's been struggling with bereavement?" She pauses just long enough to get a nod of confirmation from Sam. "You should talk to him. Is it likely that he'd want a new boyfriend now, really? Do you actually know how he feels? Does he want anything from you? Is he your friend? How would you have reacted if it was a female friend who'd said this?"

I bow my head under her onslaught. Each question just makes me feel more guilty.

"I don't know, Emily. He said he was happy when he was with me, and when he realised I was straight, it really threw him. He said it was a shock to him."

She puts her hands on her hips and sighs, exasperated. "For fuck's sake, Jake. It's hardly a declaration of love, is it? What are you so panicky about? Have you tried actually talking to him, finding out how he feels?"

"No. I mostly just kind of left. And I've not spoken to him since."

"When did he tell you this?"

"About a week ago. A week and a half, maybe." Has it really been that long?

"And you've not tried to get hold of him since then? From what Sam's told me, it sounds like this guy needs a friend. Has it occurred to you that maybe he just feels lonely?"

Her words slice into me, and I feel like the biggest fool, the cruellest idiot that ever lived. He is my friend, and he is lonely, I know he's lonely. It's obvious in everything he does, everything he says.

She continues pouring salt into the wound. "If you're his closest male friend, isn't it natural that he'd latch on to you? Just gratitude and friendship go a long way, you know."

I put my head in my hands, and Emily squeezes my shoulder. "You're a good man, Jake. Just talk to him. What's the worst that can happen?"

I smile a tiny smile, and we steer the conversation back into safer waters. When I leave, though, all I can think is how I'm still too much of a fucking coward to talk to Jasper. I don't even know where to start.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N I'm so sorry this one has taken so long - it's been killing me trying to think of what happens. There is one more outtake after this one, which is all ready to go, and will be posted tomorrow.**

**If anyone's interested in music, in the next day or so I'll be posting up the playlist I listened to while writing most of Charming Beauty Bright on the story blog - see my profile for a link.**

**As always, thanks for reading, and apologies for being slow once again!**

**This outtake is from Alice's point of view, and covers her meddling during chapter nine.  
**

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It's been several weeks, and I can see all Jasper's progress slowly slipping away again. It kills me to watch him, to have to try so hard to get him talking. I'd thought that Jake would have shown a bit more spine, would have called Jas at the very least, but apparently not.

"I don't think he knows where to start, Al." Bella, as always, is incapable of thinking badly of her superhero big brother.

"There's not much starting required, is there? All they have to do is talk to each other, like they've been doing for months. I really don't see what the big problem is." My impatience is showing and Bella's lips tighten imperceptibly; the only sign of her growing irritation. It's unclear whether it's me, the boys (I refuse to call them men when they're behaving as they are), or the situation that is bothering her. I sigh, and try to think of some way around the issue.

Bella beats me to it. "How about we force their hands? Jake'd be sorry to lose Jasper as a friend, I know he would. He's just too stupid to deal with it and the longer he leaves it the harder it is. If we arrange a situation, neither of them will have to do actually do anything and they might get over it."

She's a genius. "So, like, we get them both in the same place at the same time? Dinner out, or what?"

"Not anywhere public. I doubt either of them will want to have a heart to heart talk about their sexuality anywhere anyone could overhear them. If they even talk about it at all. How about bringing Jas over to Jake's and leaving him there?"

"He'd make me stop as soon as he realised where we were going. How about my house, or yours? We need neutral territory, somewhere that isn't home turf for either of them."

Bella snorts at that, then breaks into proper giggles as she tries to explain her mental visual of Jake and Jasper as rival lions competing for supremacy. "Jake would just squash him, poor Jasper's way too skinny to win a territorial fight."

"I dunno. Jake's a bit obvious, Jasper has more cunning. I reckon he'd win." Jasper may be able play a tactical long game, but I can too. I will make this happen, I'll force them into deciding one way or the other how this friendship is going to go.

**::::::::::**

When Bella brings Jake round to mine, he's immediately suspicious.

"What are you two up to?" His eyes narrow and his shoulders are tense, fingers tight on his crutches.

Bella looks at me, shrugs, then explains the entire thing to him. As she talks he doesn't complain, or even look particularly surprised. If anything, he looks relieved. He relaxes slightly, agreeing to try to talk to Jasper, to let us take control.

"Don't pretend I had any part in this, though. This manipulation is all you." He's willing to try, but regardless, is still annoyed at being forced into the situation.

By the time I've fetched Jasper and given both of them a piece of my mind, the relief and annoyance are gone, replaced with apprehension in mirror images – looking at each other, Jake and Jasper wear identical expressions. Leaving them alone is the one of the hardest things I've ever done, so I cover up the worry with well-practiced brusque confidence. My prediction that Jake would be outdone by Jasper now seems ridiculous, with Jasper looking small and already beaten, standing alone in the middle of the room.

Bella and I don't go far from the house, staying close enough to dash back if one (or both) of them calls. We chitchat about nonsense and fill the gaps between sentences with nervous silences. Bella is like a statue, her darting eyes the only sign of movement. In contrast, I can't keep still, constantly tapping my feet, fiddling with my nails, and generally fidgeting until her hand on my knee brings some of her stillness with it.

"It's been an hour and a half. We can probably go back now."

I'm on my feet before she's finished talking and we head back to the house in an unnatural silence. I open the front door as quietly as I can, creeping into the hallway as the muffled sound of male voices fills the air. At least they are still here, and they are talking. Bella drags me into the kitchen, her grip on my arm uncomfortably tight.

"Don't listen."

She's right, I start making tea – four mugs, I might as well hope for the best and assume they're both staying for a while – as Bella fishes out biscuits from somewhere.

"I know my brother. Food helps." Her whisper answers my raised eyebrow.

As I stir milk into the tea, a rumble of laughter echoes through the house, freezing me in place and lifting my spirits. Suddenly, I can't wait to see them, sure that they have finally managed to get over themselves. Bella's smile matches my own as we push into the living room to be greeted by the sight of our two favourite boys laughing like nothing ever happened. Relief floods through me as I wrap my arms around Jasper. Maybe everything will be alright after all.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N Here we are, the very last of the Bits and Pieces of Charming Beauty Bright. I hope you like it. It seemed fitting to end with Jasper's voice once more. This falls some months beyond the epilogue.**

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Am I dreaming?

There's a warm hand on my ribs. It slides down and over my hip, squeezes my thigh, then stops. My thigh muscles twitch, and the hand starts moving again. It goes down a little further, then tickles the inside of my leg on the way back up. It skirts my balls, close, so close I can feel the warmth of the hand as it slides by. Fingers move up and over my belly and fan out over my chest, pulling me back flush against the chest of the man behind me. This feels very real, for a dream.

Lips nuzzle at my shoulder and I stretch back, my eyes still closed, still half-asleep. A slow kiss against the back of my neck as the hand starts its downward journey once more and I can't help but speak.

"Edward..." His name is half moan, half sigh, and all pleasure. But it's wrong. The hand stops and the warm chest behind me moves away. I roll after it, bereft.

I open my eyes and I'm face to face with him. He looks part angry, part hurt and my words come back to me. My heart sinks while guilt spills over.

"Emmett, fuck. I'm sorry." He stares into my horrified eyes for what feels like a lifetime. I open my mouth, ready to apologise again, but his hand moves again, this time lightning-fast. He covers my mouth and moves over me, his weight pinning me down, staring into my eyes all the time.

"Do I look like Edward to you?" His voice is soft, gentle, but there's steel behind it. Unable to speak, I shake my head.

He reaches for my hands, stretching them above my head, keeping one of his own over my mouth all the while. Eventually he has both of my hands captured in one of his and he stares me down again, his weight on my chest making it hard to breathe.

"Do I _feel_ like Edward to you?" Again, a shake of the head is the only possible response.

He pushes my hands up against the thin struts of the headboard. "Hold on."

I grip tight, the smooth wood cool under my fingers. He lets go of my face and breathing the cool air feels strange.

"Em, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." His hand is back, he cuts me off, smothering my words again. He presses down hard, pushing the back of my head into the pillow and bringing his face close to mine before moving the hand back beside my ear. When he speaks, his voice is a growl.

"What's my name?"

I stare at him. Why is he asking? His expression gets blacker, his eyebrows drawing closer together and I realise I've not answered him.

"Emmett." My voice is quiet, slightly hoarse.

"Good. Don't say anything else. My name, that's it. Nothing else." He flashes a grin, all teeth and no humour, the predatory, possessive glint in his eye making him look dangerous, almost threatening. He leans in and kisses me hard and deep and it's overwhelming. _He's_ overwhelming. I'm helpless under him, holding on to the headboard for all I'm worth, lost in his feeling, his power, his strength.

He moves over me, around me, in me. He moves me where he wants me, and I let him. I let him take control, I watch him as he watches me. Every time his eyes flick up to mine I say his name. Every time he touches me I say his name. Every time his fingers move in me I say his name.

My hands ache, gripping so tight, my arms in such an unnatural position, such a helpless position. I want to let go, but I won't. I can only say his name, and he told me to hold on. I writhe under him, bucking and gasping against him as he moves his fingers inside me and presses down his other hand on my chest. I want to beg him for more, want to hold him, want to tell him how good he makes me feel, but I can't. I just say his name over and over again, and it's gratitude, and a plea, and a prayer, all rolled into one.

When he finally pushes into me I arch off the bed, so lost in him I can barely think any more. His voice rumbles through me, but I don't hear words, I'm incapable of understanding. I just sob his name, head back and eyes shut, moving and moving and moving. He holds me tight and starts to shake, and I'm gone. He comes with me, and the air is thick with groans and gasps and his name.

I'm so far gone I hardly register it as he prises my fingers loose, holds my hands in his, and kisses me slowly as he rocks us gently back down into sanity.

Eventually my breathing steadies, my eyes open and I gaze lazily up at him. The glaring, possessive, powerful man is gone, replaced with the smiling, kind man that I know. He grins and we laugh softly together before he whispers in my ear.

"You think you'll remember my name now?"

"Emmett." His name is a promise, an ending, and a beginning. I say it again, and hold him close.

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**A/N The playlist I listened to while writing this story is now on the blog, if anyone's interested. See my profile for a link, or go here: www (dot) charmingbeautybright (dot) blogspot (dot) com**

**Thank you once again to everyone who has read, reviewed, or recommended this story. You are all wonderful, lovely people.**


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